Friday, June 30, 2017

For the past two weeks I have been busy with editing jobs, so let's have some fun with grammar today. I know it's not everyone's favourite subject, but for those readers who share my passion, here are some Facebook grammar FAILs.

Tomorrow is Canada's 150th birthday. Will there be cake? You bet! Let the party begin, eh?

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

One of my regular readers and contributors, KDPierre, is a very talented writer. His website contains a plethora of spanking stories to suit everyone's tastes, although most are FM, and he has kindly allowed me to reprint one of them here for you. I enjoyed it and I think you will too.

His and Hers

The situation called for a spanking, of that there was no doubt. The only problem was her misbehaving husband did not agree, a minor complication that Jessica merely regretted in the way one regrets missing one subway knowing the next one will be along in a few minutes. As a couple she knew that when Ben acknowledged his guilt with a sense of remorse a spanking quickly resolved their issues. To his credit Ben approached the majority of his spankings with this mindset, but not all of them. Today he reacted to Jessica’s decision with resistance even as he resolved to accept his fate. However, he only struggled with the reason for his punishment, not his wife’s right to issue one. Even to his conflicted mind her authority was unquestionable. And so despite his reluctance he obeyed her instructions to strip and procured the paddle she told him to bring her as she watched him and waited.

And while Jessica could have hoped her husband would have a better understanding of why he was being punished today, given her current level of annoyance, she expected nothing less than his complete compliance regardless. But even though he followed her instructions, he clearly was not happy. Ben got into place with glaring defiance. It didn’t matter to Jessica. As long as Ben cooperated he could make whatever kind of face he wanted. It wasn’t his face that she was interested in right now.

For spankings like this, there would be no warm-up, no gradual easing into the punishment. The smacks started out hard and stayed hard. Ben wriggled dramatically. As he kicked about in response to the sting he spitefully moved his long thin thighs in a way that he knew would be uncomfortable for his disciplinarian figuring if his bottom was going to suffer this much she could suffer a little bit as well. It was his secret revenge. Jessica informed him that his wild wriggling was hurting her thighs, readjusted herself, and told him to settle down. Confronted, Ben did as ordered and modified his motions, but continued to vocalize his reactions. But instead of yipping or ouching through the ordeal, he made these angry grunts as the paddle landed. Jessica knew just what these grunts meant. Ben was clearly saying, “I may be cooperating, but I hate this because it isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything wrong or at least bad enough to deserve to be spanked this hard.” The problem was that even though he honestly felt this to be true, objectively speaking it just wasn’t. Ben deserved every bit of what he was getting...but more importantly, Jessica knew that she couldn’t let his feelings dictate her actions. What sort of authority would she maintain if Ben only got punished when he wanted? No, it was clear he had to be dealt with now…and firmly.

Jessica spanked with certitude, and certitude stung. The galloping backside reddened with each manifestation of Jessica’s annoyance. Still Ben resisted, feeling wronged. Despite what one may hear or read about a spanking eventually bringing about reflective clarity, the truth was that no punishment of any kind no matter the severity can force a person into accepting guilt unless they mentally come to understand it in a moment of revelation that only comes with an open mind. A series of stinging smacks can force the words of a desperate apology but not true contrition. Sometimes that understanding can occur during a spanking, the pain forcing the victim to consider things they had previously overlooked, but it was no guarantee. Pain might open a mind, but it could just as easily force a closed one to shut as tight as a box turtle’s shell. There certainly wasn’t any enlightening effect happening now. A reddening effect? Yes, but not a mind opening one. And for now that was OK. This spanking wasn’t about that. It was about a declaration of authority, annoyance, and retribution. This was really Jessica’s spanking. Ben’s spanking would come later.... and it would be Ben who would suggest it.

----------------------------------------------------

After the bedroom punishment Ben thought about what Jessica had said to him and pondered the issue from her perspective. It took a while. It took honest self-evaluation as well. And it took trust in Jessica’s judgment, judgment proven sound countless times before. About three hours after the initial punishment, the light came on and Ben recognized where he was at fault. In that moment a wave of guilt embarrassed him. He recalled his angry resistance and childish stubbornness and despite the prior spanking, Ben realized that the issue was not truly resolved. He mustered his courage and approached his wife transformed. Gone now was the stubborn, resentful adolescent looking to get away with his misbehavior, instead replaced miraculously by a meek guilt-ridden man-child in need of correction, a timid little boy who, while fearful of his mommy’s anger, knows that the only way to make things right is to offer up his naughty behind to her correction.

Jessica watched her repentant husband with satisfaction as he struggled to apologize and ultimately ask that she spank him again. It was no surprise. She had been through this before and knew it would happen. Whenever he resisted a punishment she clearly knew was warranted, she could expect Ben to act all distant and hurt and probably pout for a few hours after the initial spanking until he calmed enough for her words to sink in. He’d then think about what he had done and come to see his fault. The guilt over having resisted would torment him until...later on or maybe the next day....he’d show up all sheepish and apologize, and conclude by asking for another spanking...just as he did now. And though he came to her willingly, his face betrayed his inner conflict. A second spanking on a butt still stinging from the first would hurt a lot and they both knew it. Seeing her husband struggle with his fear and embarrassment and still confess his desire to be punished again both thrilled and amused her. Face blushing and posture slumped, he asked in a way that seemed he was inconveniencing her…as if she would not be all too happy to discipline him a second time. As if, she smiled to herself. She also saw his very real concern over being spanked atop a raw behind...and still he petitioned her discipline. What greater proof of her authority and Ben’s trust in it could there be? And yet, how comical was the fact that due only to stubbornness and closed-mindedness Ben would have to suffer another hard spanking in the same day? Had he only fully accepted the first he could have avoided a second.

But no matter, Jessica fully understood his need for absolution and had no problem in agreeing. She knew that as necessary as the first spanking was to maintain her authority, this one would be the most productive. This one, the one he now recognized as deserved, would be the one to absolve the guilt, clean the slate, and reconnect the two. Besides, despite her prior venting of anger, it would not be too difficult to get back to a proper disciplinary mindset. She’d just refocus on the misbehavior and rekindle some constructive ire. Ire to fuel a fire, she mused, picturing the hot glow that would soon be radiating from her husband’s bottom...a bottom she knew he’d now offer up willingly to her paddle. She liked when he did that. It amused her to see him react to her sharp smacks with a yelp and a clench and then see him struggle to arch up a relaxed posterior for her to punish again. It showed effort and sincere contrition, a contrition she would reward with more devilish smacks until he’d no longer have the energy to raise it or even clench it. Then she would just spank the slack, surrendered behind as hard as she could until all of her annoyance and all of his guilt had been spanked away. He would feel the burn for days...as he should, she thought. Nothing wrong with that. It’s how naughty boys learn to be good.

Back to the room they went. Off came his clothes once again only this time he went over her lap with an already tender butt and receptive attitude. Jessica looked at the waiting bottom. She had done a good job. The chubby cheeks looked sunburned. A touch of her palm found them still warm as well. She realized poor Ben would not have an easy time of it and yet she would have no problem repeating the punishment. It was necessary and fair: merciful mercilessness. She had had her spanking, now Ben needed his...and sore butt or not, her arm wasn’t tired at all.

Monday, June 26, 2017

Fred: I do use Twitter I am @Pervy_thoughtsMostly to follow 'rude' people, nudists and spankers.

Dr. Ken: No, I keep my spanko side off of social media, and confine my spanking posts to my blog.

Cutiebootie: I have a Twitter account, but it's not used for spanking. I am more of a
blogger when it comes to discussing all things spanking.

Fondles: my twitter account is more for the dd/lg stuff - pictures, places we go,
and sharing other people's posts - which DO include spanking and erotic
pics.

Simon: I have a twitter account which I use to follow various
spankers/spankees. I'm not very social media savvy and from bitter
experience with a previous account I have learnt to be very careful with
tweets re-tweets etc on this account. However I do find it useful and
enjoyable as long as you are sensible.

Roz: I don't have a twitter account, my social media is restricted to blogs.

Sir Wendel: No Twitter. I just use Instagram which is spanking free.

Katie: I do have a twitter account, but don't really use it for anything more
than following the kids, news and things of interest. Honestly, I hardly
get there much. I restrict all things spanky to my blogger
account/reading other blogs. I don't want to chance getting spanky stuff
mixed up with vanilla stuff. It's manageable for me.

Ronnie: I know twitter is very popular but I don't have an account. Anything spanking related is restricted to blogs.

Thanks for the mention.

Hermione: I have only tweeted once, several years ago, as part of a class exercise, when I first learned about Twitter at a blogging seminar. It was called microblogging, because of the shortness of the messages. I spend far too much time on the internet as it is, and think that if I start tweeting, I might never get anything else done.

There's quite a variety of Twitter use or non-use in our readers, and that's just fine! Thank you all for joining in.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Welcome one and all to another chance to discuss a spanking-related topic. This week Ronnie published a list of spanking twitter feeds from some well-known spanking personalities in the blogosphere. I hadn't realized Twitter was so popular!

Do you use Twitter? If so, do you use it for talking about spanking? Do you follow other spankos? If not, would you consider doing so and why or why not?

Leave your response as a comment below and I will publish a summary of our conversation after everyone has had a chance to speak.

Saturday, June 24, 2017

Fondles: I am proud to give you my daughter's hand and with it, the cane for her bottom!

kdpierre: While the Curator was delighted with his wealthiest patron's gifts of a
ring from the Count of Evreux, and a walking stick that belonged to
Louis XII, he worried that he'd never find a jar large enough and for
the specimen of a young peasant girl being donated to the museum's new
anthropology section.

Ronnie: Come now ladies, a little caning to end the evening.

Minelle: Now, let's have some fun!

Anon 1: I'll bet there's a nice big bottom under there that could do with a dose of this cane.

Anon 2: I'm sorry, sir, but only my husband is allowed to cane my ample arse.
You're just going to have to make do reddening the skinny little behind
of your petite wife.

Sir Wendel: So then Brent says to me “You know you have Zombies in your wardrobe?” What a jokester.

Hermione: No Monsieur Lesage, I am not suggesting you take my wife to bed. Just warm her bottom for her, then she will be ready for my attentions.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Last week I promised you that I would share one of the late Rollin Hand's stories. I think you will enjoy this one, even if you don't know much about jazz. It contains a mix of MF and FM spankings—something for almost everyone!

We were fumbling around on the stage trying to figure out what to play next when this guy shouts, “Hey, do you know ‘Blues for Alice’?”

Now normally this isn’t a bebop crowd, it’s a late night lounge thing, mostly standards, ballads and bossa novas, nothing too frantic. But hell, we all like bebop and especially a Charlie Parker tune, so we all look at each other. Jim on alto says he loves it, Joe on bass looks at the changes and says he can do it, no sweat, Alan on vibes knows it too. Reggie, our drummer only wants to know the tempo. They all look at me….

In the late 60’s I had a good gig playing down in the French Quarter while I was going to school uptown at Tulane U. Well, not the French Quarter, exactly. The Top o’ the Mart was a revolving bar on the top floor of the World Trade Mart, at the foot of Canal Street. Canal Street is bounded on the East by the French Quarter and the river. West of Canal is the business district. It’s a posh bar that rotates with great views of the Mississippi and the Quarter. I had met this vibes player, Paul Defours who needed a guitar to fill out a quartet and do a little late night modern jazz, not traditional stuff like they play at Preservation Hall and Pete Fountain’s.
So four nights a week, 9-12, I was there, doing jazz standards mostly---and some bebop.
Now bebop is difficult. The runs of notes are all over the place and the chord changes come fast. I’d hit clunkers now and then. They tell you there are no wrong notes in jazz. Don’t you believe it. See what happens when you lead with a G sharp over an E minor 7 chord or play an F sharp in Bflat Lydian mode. It’s not pretty!

Anyway, one night we’re playing and I notice this woman at the bar. She is absolutely gorgeous. She is a bit older than me, in her thirties, has long platinum blonde hair and she’s wearing this black sheath dress that hugs her figure like it was painted on. She’s on the slender side but with a really nice bust. I saw her get up at one point to take a powder and was treated to a rear view of a superbly shaped ass as she sauntered toward the girls’ room. Way out of my league, right?

Well damn, if at the break she didn’t buy me a drink. She asks me my name. Charlie, I tell her. She says she is Anna. She has an accent, like Russian, I’m guessing, but her English is excellent. I hadn’t pegged her as a jazz fan, but then she asks me, “Do you have the difficulty with rapid eighth notes over the Charlie Parker blues changes?”

That took me aback. “You’re very perceptive. Not many people notice those mistakes, thankfully.” That set we’d done “Au Privave” and “Blues for Alice”.

“Otherwise you play very well,” she said. She was an expatriate, she said. An heiress descended from Polish royalty, she said. She had managed to escape the Soviet Union with some money intact and she was traveling all over the US, trying to decide where to live.
“I come to New Orleans for a time because I love the jazz music,” she said. “Maybe next I go to Kansas City, the home of Charlie Parker,” she laughed. After the last set she came up to me. “I can help you, I think. You can learn to play better, this I know.” I asked her if she was a music teacher, she said no, but she had a method.

“We start tonight if you like. Come with me to my apartment.” She said this with a coy smile. And I thought, hot damn!

After our last set I packed up my Gibson ES 175 in a hurry. As I prepared to leave with the hot countess or whatever she was, I got thumbs up and envious looks from the rest of the guys. She had an apartment on Royal Street in the Quarter, a block down from the Royal Orleans and right next to The Court of the Two Sisters. You could hear the music from Pat O’Brien’s right on the other side of her courtyard.

Well, we’d no sooner got there when she slipped off into her bedroom. She emerged a few moments later and I nearly lost it right there. She looked breathtaking in a lacy black bra and matching sheer panties, with black stockings and a garter belt. Then she said, coyly, “Why do you need all those clothes on, Charleee?” That’s the way she said my name, drawing out the “eee” at the end. I wasted no time and practically tore my clothes off. Then she took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom. She pulled me down on the bed and started with kissing and touching and fondling and of course I reciprocated. But just when things were getting pretty heated up she stopped and got out of bed.

“Now, Charlee, I show you something. Roll over for me on your front,” she said. I had no idea what was going on. Some game? Ok, I’d play. She was gone a minute then came back with some stockings. She took the stockings and tied my hands and feet to the posts of her big four poster bed. I was thinking, ahh, a kinky game. I had a hard on that was digging through the mattress at this point. Then she took the pillows and shoved them under my middle which made my ass stick up.

All of a sudden I felt a little uneasy. What the hell was this? Well I sure found out when she went into a dresser drawer and pulled out a wicked looking riding switch. It was a long thin tapered thing that whirred ominously as she swished it through the air. Now I was alarmed. This game was getting out of hand. But I was tied up good.

“Now,” she said, “here is the music lesson. I count six times tonight you make the wrong notes. So I give you six lashes. Are you ready? Maybe next time you practice more, no?”
I blubbed and squawked and told her to ‘untie me, dammit!’ Like right now! But then she just smiled and said if I took my punishment like a good boy, she’d pleasure me “all night long, if you wish”.

That shut me up. Little Charlie told big Charlie to grin and bear it. She told me, “eyes front” then tapped my ass with that switch. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I heard a whine and Crack! that thing landed right across my bare hiney. Let me tell you, that lick was pure hell. I let out a screech. Then whack! She did it again. It was like a red hot wire had been laid on my butt. Four more times she whipped that wicked switch down on my ass. Four blazing stingers that stayed with me for days.

But she was true to her word. After whipping my ass but good she untied me, rolled me over mounted me, straddling my middle. She lifted herself and fell, lifted and fell, her vagina stroking my shaft. I came so hard I thought I’d pass out. Then we did it again, experimenting with all kinds of exotic positions. This was one hot lady.

I left in the morning exhausted. She’d been insatiable, but good grief it had been hot. I wondered if that had been a one-night fling, but the next week, there she was again. At the break she motioned for me to come over to her table. She gave me this wicked smile and said, “So have you practiced, Charlee? Will you play Blues for Alice? I listen very carefully.”
Actually I had been working on it, memorizing the melody, working through all the changes. And by now the memory of that switching had faded so I gave her this cocky grin and said, “Sure.”

Well we played it and a few other tunes like “Boplicity” and “Groovin’ High” --bebop classics. I think the only problem I had that night was the bridge to “Joy Spring” –it changes modes chromatically every two bars.

After the gig, sure enough she invites me to come with her again. “I tell you how you did when we get to my flat.” She said this with a wicked thin smile like she was daring me. I knew what it meant. If she thought I’d missed some notes, that switch was coming out. I have to tell you, my ass cheeks clenched, but I said, with as much bravado as I could muster, “Of course. Let’s go.”

I have to say I did better. Still, the bill was four. “I will tie you if you wish,” she said. I said no.
This time, on her command, I bent over and touched my toes. I could hear her behind me and I felt the infernal tapping of that switch. Then whissh…crack! I stifled the urge to scream. Christ it hurt! Then the next. I let out a strangled “Yeowwch!” I got four licks with that whippy switch that scalded my ass with four lines that I could still see in the mirror a week later. But the consolation prize was another night of hot sex with this gorgeous creature.

And she taught me things. I’d be on my knees worshipping at her musky womanhood and she’d tell me, “Yes, right there, ahhh…” or if I was inside her she’d say “you go too fast…go slow, Charleee.” Sometimes she’d even keep the little whip in her hand and flick my bottom with it to emphasize a point.

I leaned fast. Now I was hooked, but I was determined to get my playing to another level. So I woodshedded like crazy, running scales and modes until I my fingers would fly without my thinking about it. So the next time she came in, I was ready.

And, I was brilliant. She knew it too. After the last set she sidled up to me and said, “You come with me now. I give you surprise.” Her eyes were pure lust. She told me to wait while she went to her bedroom. She came out wearing a filmy negligee, but I froze. She was carrying that switch. I was steeling myself to pay for a night of mind-blowing sex with another ass whipping when she knelt at my feet and offered the switch to me with both hands.

“This is your reward, Charleee. I hear 'Blues for Alice'. You play perfect. Tonight I am, how you say, the slave girl for you.” I took the switch and told her to get up. She rose and slipped off her negligee. Underneath she was gloriously naked. She said she wanted to be tied, and brought out stockings.

As I said, her bed was a big four poster so I tied her wrists to the uprights and her ankles to the legs so she was in a standing “X”. She looked at me and told me she should have 10, the total number she’d given me. Then she sort of hollowed her back and stuck her bottom out, ready for the whip. I was floored but so turned on. So if this was what she wanted….I told myself, ok I’d do it.

I whipped the switch through the air a few times to get the feel of it. It was very flexible and light---and I knew from experience it stung like hell. I lined it up on her delectable ass and tapped her a few times, then I brought my wrist back and let fly. The whip made that whiney “whirr” sound and landed with a whiuick! Right across the fullest part of her behind. Her cheeks indented then sprang back and a line of red appeared. She hissed a little intake of breath, wriggled a bit, then stuck her ass out again as if boldly asking for more.

And I thought well, this is what the lady wants, so I laid more of those firm, deliberate licks right across her bottom. Her bottom cheeks flinched as the switch struck, but she kept sticking it out. I took my time and aimed each one so that the strokes formed a ladder of red lines. This little dance took a few minutes. I’d land a stroke with the switch then wait for her wriggling to stop. When she was still, I’d line up another. At one point I stopped and she turned and said, “You must not stop, Charlee. Do it again.” So I did, all ten times.

Then I dropped the switch and came up behind her. I ran my hand up between her legs. She was wet and slippery and she moaned with pleasure. “Now, please, Charlee, now I want you.” I needed no second invitation. This whipping scene had made me as hard as blue steel. I shucked out of my pants and slid into her from behind, cupping her breasts in my hands. Her nipples were hard and I pinched them as I pistoned in and out of her. In turn, she pushed her ass back, in time to my thrusting. After we both came, I untied her and we spent the rest of the night in more passionate coupling.

So that was how it went, only now, with my chops finely honed I was rarely on the wrong end of the switch, and it was Anna who took the licking. She incorporated other little games as well. She emerged from the bedroom one night as a Catholic schoolgirl, like you might see at Sacred Heart. She wanted to be spanked, across my knee like a naughty girl. So I put her over my knee, raised her skirt and pulled down her little white panties before smacking her wobbling rear cheeks with my hand for several minutes until her bottom was hot and red.

Another time she wore a baby doll nighty and handed me a short leather strap to spank her with. This one made a sharp crack! as it smacked her bottom and I even worried that the crowd at Pat O’Brien’s might hear us.

An especially memorable variation was the time she came out in harem pajamas and carrying a short whip like a miniature cat ‘o nine tails. She wanted to be tied upright to the bedpost, have her harem pants lowered and leathered with that little whip until her ass cheeks glowed. As always we ended up screwing ‘til dawn it seemed.

Then I didn’t see her anymore. A week went by. Then two. Still, no Anna. “Your girlfriend run out on you Charlie?” asked Paul one night as we packed up. I had to say I didn’t know.
I finally decided to try and call on her. I told myself that it was to make sure she was ok. But nobody answered at her Royal street apartment. I found the rental office and they just said she’d moved. No forwarding address. I thought, well, maybe she did go to Kansas City after all.

But several years later I did see her again. In the news. I was living in DC then and there was this piece in the paper. There was a picture of a man who was said to be a defector from Poland, a well-known political figure. He’d been imprisoned, but had escaped to the West. He was now being wined and dined by the Washington establishment, hailed as a freedom fighter. In the background was a woman, said to be his wife, Anna. It was her.

The next picture showed him playing the violin. The piece said he was an accomplished jazz violinist and he’d apparently been asked to play at this cocktail party where the photos were taken. In the picture he’s playing, but his gaze is fixated on his wife’s face. He looks triumphant. She is smiling but maybe looks a tad anxious. The article went on to say, “…and he played the Django Rhinehart number flawlessly, not a note out of place….” I had to smile, knowing what she had likely wagered on the outcome of that performance. Would she be donning the harem costume or the schoolgirl

Monday, June 19, 2017

Emerging Lurker: All of the above except for the clean slate since spankings here are all for fun.

Domhnall: No matter what the reason for the spanking, “a hot, red bottom” is a must.

At
the beginning of my journey I scoffed at the idea that a visit to my
Disciplinarian could “wipe the slate clean” but I decided to give it a
try. There were two memories from my youth that always made me cringe
with shame and guilt. I brought these memories to my Disciplinarian,
one at a time, and received a severe punishment spanking for each. I
was very surprised to discover that the guilt and shame that was always
associated with the memories is no longer there. So, although
punishment spankings are far from my favorite, I do appreciate the
outcome.

My number one reason for seeking a spanking is to reduce
“tension and stress”. Life can wind me up tight and a good spanking
will reverse that nicely.

Liza: Erotic feelings for sure.

Fondles: I like all the different emotions and outcomes from having been spanked
but perhaps the most cherished is the feeling of reconnection. Spanking
for stress reduction, or foreplay eliciting erotic feelings leading to
playtime after, or simply a reminder of who's boss - all ultimately
serve the same goal - helping us reconnect and establish our respective
roles.

Roz: Pretty much all of the above, but greater intimacy and closeness top the list.

Anon: I'm with Emerging Lurker here. All my spankings are fun and erotic so, I
love the hot, stinging, aching bottom and feeling oh so close to my
wife and of course, feeling all revved up and ready to go.

Steve: Love, knowing my wife Love me. She initiated the spankings, reason,
acting "stupid" at times, her words. She also said if I was a little
boy, I would be over her lap and be getting a spanking. I laughed,
bared my bottom, give it your best shot. My mistake and when she now
said I need a spanking, I no longer laugh, I plead, beg. Always over
her lap, she bares my bottom, or when I have gone to far, I'm sent to
the bedroom, told to undress and wait. Waiting is what she determines.
Those spankings are start and end with her bath brush. When she stops I
dance around, I either face the wall in the kitchen or the front room,
spanked the whole way. After a good hour or half hour I sit on her lap,
squirming and she reminds me she loves me, and I totally agree.

Peter: Have to agree with Ronnie! It is all of the above and the closeness for me comes fromtrusting her to take me to my knees and then lend me a hand to sanding again with a better sense of what is truly important. I confess a bruised bottom a few days later does arouse me with the memory of the moment.

Rosco: For me, a sound whipping or spanking provides an intense satisfaction
similar in some respects to a glass of cold tart lemonade on a hot
summer day.

Beyond that I seem to find it relaxing. My wife has
taken to tying me down before a spanking, then leaving me to reflect on
my "behavior" for a half hour or so. I've often fallen asleep- the only
naps I ever take. She'll return, and we will take our sex games to the
next level.

Hermione: I crave the combination of receiving controlled
physical pain and feeling completely submissive. That puts me into a
very special mental place. It also provides a
way to escape from a mind full of noise. The
peace that results does away with stress for a while.

Friday, June 16, 2017

Ever since we played Finish the Sentence two weeks ago, my spanko senses have been more attuned to vanilla objects that would make lovely spanking implements.

On a recent trip to Canadian Tire—where they sell much more than just tires—I spotted a display of red fly swatters like this one.

I paused to consider it, but Ron was in a hurry so I made mental note to come back for it some other time.

As I said, Canadian tire sells more than automotive supplies. In fact, there is a huge kitchenware department. I detoured through it and couldn't help spotting a display left over from Mother's Day.

What mother wouldn't enjoy a set of colourful spatulas applied to her posterior?

Our next door neighbours are away right now, so every day I pop over and take in their mail. On the day after their departure I checked their mailbox, removed some letters and flyers and unlocked the front door. After dropping the mail onto a small table in the hall, I looked up and noticed a low, wide bench against the wall facing the door. It hadn't been there the last time I had been inside. On the bench were two items: a long black shoehorn and a red lint removal brush with a white handle.

There must have been a very innocent explanation for those two items being there on the bench. Our neighbours couldn't be spankos, could they?

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Before I present the final chapter of A Master of Discipline by Zoe Templeton, I would like to bid a fond farewell to a dear friend, Rollin Hand. For many years he entertained us all with his blog and his published spanking stories. Rollin was always very generous about sharing his stories with me and allowing me to publish them on my blog. In May, Rollin took a break from blogging and writing in order to deal with his health issues. Sadly, Rollin passed away a few days ago. He will be sorely missed, and our thoughts go out to his family at this time. Next week I will post one of his excellent short stories here.

Now, on with the conclusion of A Master of Discipline. It's quite lengthy, but I couldn't see a way of breaking it up without losing the continuity of the wrap-up. So get comfortable with a hot drink and enjoy!

The party was in full swing. The wall's of Ruth's little house were shaking with the sound of the music, and she had never had so many people crammed into her lounge. Everyone was having a wonderful time, and, despite their varied backgrounds, all the guests were getting along together. Ruth giggled to herself at the incongruous sight of Lillian Greeves being swept off her feet by the young sergeant who worked with Tony. She was so happy; she could hardly believe that only three months had elapsed since her release from Damocles Priory.

The first few hours after she and Stephen had been released were simply chaotic and there had been moments when she wondered if her life would ever recover normality. Firstly, there had been explanations to make, on both sides. It transpired that Tony's timely arrival had been more due to the Reverend Mould than anyone else. The Reverend had not reconciled himself to his peremptory dismissal and had rented a small cottage nearby, in the hope that, somehow, he might be reinstated. He had apparently begun to give private tuition in his favourite subject, to eke out an income, while still keeping an eye on his beloved priory. The comings and goings of Robin Henderson and the Karabengse family had attracted his attention and, while walking in the woods, he had come across Stephen's motorcycle lying in the ditch where Luc left it. His suspicions had been aroused and he had contacted the local police, who traced the registration of the bike to Stephen. Tony had already become concerned at Ruth's absence from home, combined with the message Stephen had left on the answering machine. He had made a link, quite an incorrect one as it happened, between Ruth and Stephen. As soon as it became apparent that Stephen was the victim of foul play, Tony had descended on the priory with a squad of men, to be met by the sight of Nicky trying to climb out of an upstairs window and down the ivy. For Tony, once given the excuse he needed to force an entry, the rest became easy.

Ruth's explanation of how she and Stephen came to be dressed in not much more than broad smiles was not so easy. When Tony battered down the door of the main hall his immediate reaction had been one of anger. However Ruth somehow managed to allay his suspicions. The bluster of lies and half-truths put up by the Hendersons had helped because it had so irritated Tony that he would have listened to anything rather than accept what the arrogant Sir Harold and his objectionable son had to say. Sir Harold had even produced the papers which Ruth and Stephen had signed when they joined the Reverend Mould's course, as evidence that everything that had happened since had been done of their own free will.

Nicky, to Ruth's surprise, had taken charge of Stephen with a maturity beyond her years, taking him off for, as she put it, 'some tender loving care'. Ruth had suddenly realised that she could do with some of that herself, and persuaded Tony to cut short his interrogation to allow her some recovery time.

She had begun by taking a holiday, leaving all the statements, interviews and legal clearing-up which was the natural result of her abduction to be taken care of later. Ruth made minimal preparations, telling Lillian Greeves that she was taking some sick leave, and Tony only that she needed to be alone for a while. Then she quickly packed a bag and was gone. To his credit, Tony had not pressed her to stay. She knew it was a very difficult period for him too; part of her reasoning in wanting to get away was so that Tony would have time to adjust to what had happened.

After a day spent browsing in travel agencies, she had decided to rent a small stone cottage in Snowdonia, hiding herself away as best she could. She wanted no distractions, no contact with the outside world, while she came to terms with herself.

She spent a great deal of the time wondering what Tony would think when the police investigation began to reveal the details of just what had happened at Damocles Priory. In the end, she concluded that it didn't matter; Tony would either accept her for what she was or not at all. There was nothing she could do, indeed nothing she wanted to do, to change the fact that she was naturally, sexually, a submissive character. Things had certainly got out of hand at Damocles Priory - that must never be allowed to happen again - but she was sure that there were other ways of satisfying her craving without going to such extreme measures. If she persisted in trying to lay charges against the Hendersons, an awful lot of mud was going to be thrown, and inevitably some of it would stick. Ruth seriously doubted her own ability to stand up to cross-examination and deny that she had derived pleasure from what had been done to her. The irony that her own honesty could so work against her was not lost. After three weeks of musing in the Welsh mountains, she concluded that hiding herself away was doing her no good. So she returned home, ready to defy anyone who would not accept her at face value.

Ruth's first ordeal on returning home was returning to work and facing Lillian Greeves. Ruth knew that her boss deserved some sort of explanation,and that did not promise to be easy. The prospect made her feel every bit as nervous as a junior pupil, meeting her headmistress for the first time.

Lillian began by welcoming Ruth back from her sick leave. Taking three weeks had not been an excessive degree of sick leave; it had taken that long for the marks of her various punishments to wear off, leaving Ruth's bottom once again a pristine white as she examined herself in the bathroom mirror each morning.

"Now, Ruth, the question remains; what are we going to do with you for the next few weeks?" Lillian looked at Ruth with a kindly, motherly, sort of expression.

"Yes, I can see you look well, but there is the question of the staff-pupil relationship. I don't know exactly what went on at Damocles Priory but, from the little I've managed to prise out of Nicky Shaw, your professional relationship with her, and Robin Henderson even more, was shall we say...embarrassingly compromised...was it not?"

Ruth felt herself blushing brightly. How much does she know? Did Nicky tell her everything? "Well...er...yes, I suppose it would be a little awkward if I had to teach Robin again," she admitted.

"Well that question does not arise. Whatever else happened, it has come to my notice that he was the ring-leader of a group of sixth-formers who were passing around some quite obscene video tapes, apparently made at Damocles Priory at the instigation of Henderson's father. So I have told his father to remove Robin from the school, with immediate effect. The tapes involved have been burned, and the other pupils have all felt the weight of my senior cane across their bare backsides. So that matter is now closed."

Ruth gave an inaudible sigh of relief. At least she would not have to live with the snickers of her pupils, pointing fingers behind her back, having witnessed her course performance. Lillian Greeves seemed to be smiling at her, but Ruth could not see any reason for humour. She put it down to the fact that her boss was trying to be pleasant. Little did she know that Lillian fully understood her relief, having featured on at least one of the tapes herself. She had discovered this when playing each of the tapes in turn, in the privacy of her home. before destroying them.

"However, there is still the question of Miss Shaw. She is leaving school at the end of this term anyway, having decide that an academic career is not for her, and her parents have supported her decision. A pity but there it is. I don't know exactly what her role was in the goings-on at Damocles. She will not tell me. I gather she has not been very helpful to the police either. I don't think it would be a good idea for you two to work in close harmony for the remainder of the term. I understand that she wants to talk to you, which is fair enough, but after that I think it would be best if you had minimum contact until she leaves the school.

I have dealt with her behaviour in truanting from school in order to play whatever part she did in the goings on at the Priory. She has had a damn good caning on her bare bottom which she won't forget in a hurry, and I left her in no doubt that I thought she deserved more. She accepted her punishment with remarkably good grace. This tends to confirm my suspicion that the young lady has a very guilty conscience and I suspect she feels she has escaped lightly, but in the circumstances I think it's best all round to let the matter drop. I don't believe she is able to sit comfortably yet, but that will pass, and I don't want to have your presence as a constant reminder of something that she, and the school, would rather was forgotten."

Ruth felt some sympathy for Nicky who had, after all, done her best to help in the end. All things considered though, a 'damn good caning' on her bare bottom was a fair penalty for her earlier involvement. But what was Lillian leading up to? Ruth had the distinct feeling that she was being set up for something. Was it to do with Lillian having a much better idea than she was so far admitting, about what went on at Damocles? That familiar feeling, the thrill of punishment to follow, began to stir in Ruth's loins. Lillian had not been too shy to use the tawse on her once before. Perhaps this interview was the build-up to another strapping. Her bottom tingled in anticipation, even as she was wondering what pretext there could possibly be for such an action.

"As it happens, there has been an extraordinary coincidence which provides an opportunity for you to further your career over the next few weeks and, at the same time, will keep you out of school for the same period."

Lillian was still smiling, and Ruth was mystified by what might be coming next.

"Educorp-West was very interested in the work that Reverend Mould was doing, and there was general dismay when it transpired that Damocles Priory would no longer be available for staff training courses, although it was felt that, perhaps, the good Reverend was just a little too enthusiastic about Action Learning. So the Company has decided that we will set up something similar at another establishment, only with a more balanced course content. I have suggested to the Board that you should be seconded, until next term, to lead a project team consisting of the Reverend Mould and another colleague, to design the new course curriculum. Are you interested?"

To say that Ruth was flabbergasted was to understate the case wildly. Ruth could not believe that she was hearing correctly. Her mind spun. Although she was entirely innocent of any wrong-doing in connection with Damocles Priory, she knew that her behaviour had not been totally professional. She had expected a reprimand, at the very least, but this was almost by way of a promotion! She stammered her thanks, and asked Lillian if she could have a little while to think the offer over, a request that was readily granted.

Her sense of shock at the unexpected offer had not helped her next conversation to go any easier. Emerging from the headmistress's office, she had walked straight into Nicky, who had been tipped off about her presence by Coral Browne. After an embarrassed silence, Ruth broke the ice.

"Hello, Nicky, Miss Greeves tells me that you have decided to leave school at the end of term."

"Yes, miss, I think after what happened I don't think I could go back to being a schoolgirl again."

Ruth pondered for a moment, but she knew what the girl meant; the events at Damocles Priory had been a new experience for them both, and neither could wind back the clock.

"Yes, I suppose so," she said. "What are you going to do with yourself? There are still openings for further education, if you want to, you know."

"I know, and maybe, later, I will. To start with though, I'm going to get some business training and earn my own living. My parents say it's OK, and there is a little project which I want to try , just to see if I can make it work."

This was the old Nicky whom Ruth had known before the incident at Damocles, the sharp, intelligent, self-confident girl for whom she had predicted such a bright future. She smiled, thankful that she could still be proved right.

"I'm glad you have such bright hopes, Nicky, after all that's happened. I wanted to say something about that. I mean, now that you are finishing school, launching into the big wide world, as it were, as one adult to another, I can rely on what happened at Damocles remaining confidential, can't I?"

"Oh, Ruth, of course you can. You are right, I have grown up. I finished being a schoolgirl last week when Miss Greeves caned my bottom. I don't ever want to repeat that...at least not in that sort of way." She grinned knowingly at Ruth, rubbing the back of her skirt as she did so. "Your secret is safe with me. Who knows, one day I may need you to give me some advice on the subject."

It was Ruth's turn to smile. She knew that Nicky was winding her up, but still felt that she could trust her. It would be nice to have her as a friend in years to come, she thought. After all their age difference now was not that great and soon it would mean nothing.

Later that day she had to face Tony again. Arriving home after work, she knew that he was already there; his car was in the drive and he had his own key. Her heart was in her mouth as she parked, being careful not to box him in, and being extra-careful to lock her own car. She would never, never, never leave a car unlocked again. If her experiences at the priory had taught her one lesson, it had taught her that. Meekly, she let herself in, knowing that the next few hours were going to be difficult.

Tony was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for her. Their first words were awkward. They could have been strangers meeting for the first time. They talked about the weather and how it had been since Ruth went away. Tony told Ruth that he had tended her little garden while she was away, and how the fine weather had made everything grow. Then Ruth said that she had been to Wales, to Beddgelert. She told Tony the story about the Welsh prince who had slain his faithful dog, Gelert, thinking that it had killed his son, only to find that the hound had defended the boy to the death in the face of marauding wolves. Tony said that was very sad.

The conversation moved on to work. Ruth told Tony about her conversation with Lillian Greeves and the opportunity she had been offered. When she had finished, Tony mentioned for the first time the subject of Damocles Priory. However he did not begin, as Ruth had been expecting, with an interrogation. His surprising news was that Stephen Langton had mysteriously resigned from the police force and was declining to give evidence in any proceedings, which was going to make any kind of prosecution difficult.

"The rumour is that he came into some money, unexpectedly, but I think there is more to it than that." Tony was obviously waiting for Ruth to comment, and perhaps to explain her side of the story.

Gradually the barriers between them crumbled and the talking ceased to be mere niceties and became communication. The mention of Stephen was the key that unlocked Ruth's inhibitions. As she unravelled her tale she grew in confidence, and Tony grew in understanding. Their conversation went on long into the evening and, by its end, Ruth felt totally drained. She had not held much back; her experiences and their effect on her had all come out in the open. The only bit she glossed over was Stephen's and her brief relationship. She covered that part of the story by saying that Stephen tried to rescue her and had been overpowered by Luc. The details of what transpired afterwards she left to Tony's imagination, and she was careful not to fertilise that imagination too much. Even so, at several points in the narrative she thought that she had misjudged her partner's feelings and that perhaps he had guessed more than was good for her, but she never did find out exactly how much Tony knew of what had gone on at the priory.

Finally, when everything had been aired, Tony took a deep breath. "You don't really want to face a court case and giving evidence, do you?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Not really," Ruth admitted. "What good would it serve? It wouldn't do me any good. Sir Harold Henderson is bound to have some really sharp lawyers. They'd make me look silly at best, and a whole lot worse if I was unlucky. I'd never be able to face working at the school again. Do you think I'm so terrible not wanting to give evidence?"

"No, not really. You're right, of course, you wouldn't come out of it very well. Neither would Stephen or Nicky. I'm not so sure that I care too much about Stephen - I still don't think you've told me all there is to tell about his part in this - but it would be a shame to ruin young Nicky's life. So the question remains; what are we going to do with you?"

"How do you mean, do with me? I'm not a thing, you know! I'm a person. I have a free will. You can't just decide something about me without me agreeing to it."

"Oh, I know that, but this famous free will of yours has just got you into a pile of trouble. You might not be so lucky next time. It seems to me that you need a bit of firm guidance."

"Oh, what are you suggesting?"

"Get yourself up to the bedroom, wench!" He turned her gently about and patted her rump as an encouragement. Ruth needed no second bidding. This was her old Tony, back to normal! She leapt up the stairs two at a time. Reaching the bedroom, she turned to hug him, putting both arms round his neck. He held her head to him with one hand, his tongue avidly seeking hers. She felt his free hand tugging at the zip of her skirt.

As the garment fell to the ground, Tony gave her a gentle push. The back of her knees contacted the end of the bed and Ruth squealed, tumbling backwards in an untidy heap on the bed. She lay on her back, laughing, genuinely happy for the first time in weeks, as he flung off his own clothes. She expected him to join her on the bed immediately but, instead, he scooped up her legs, his arm under her knees. He lifted her ankles high and pulled her panties unceremoniously to her knees.

"Oh, sir!" she giggled, "that's not very dignified."

"You won't sit on your dignity when I've done with you."

Ruth felt her legs being lifted higher, bent back over her shoulders. "Tony, what are you doing? No!" Her voice rose to a squawk as his intentions became clear.

"You caused me a lot of trouble and heartache over the last month, young lady." His right hand, the fingers extended rigidly, made a stinging contact with her bottom. "I don't want it to happen again."

She wailed as he spanked her again, but not so loudly as to put him off.

With her legs held high, her bottom lifted inches off the bed, Ruth was totally exposed. She could watch every smack, watch the movement of his hand before the loud slap of the impact. She could also see the effect of the spanking on Tony's rapidly stiffening manhood, and prayed that he would yield to lust before the heat in her bottom became absolutely unbearable. She was not disappointed. With a final resounding whack, Tony clambered onto the bed, hooking her knees over his shoulders to assume their favourite position.

For a brief moment, she was able to watch his penis lancing towards her. Splaying her legs wide, ready to receive him, she felt her smooth exposed sex-lips pucker as his throbbing gland parted them, paused momentarily at the entrance, then slammed into her with a ferocity that rattled her teeth together. There was no delay, no savouring of a slow penetration tonight. With a passion fuelled by abstinence, Tony plunged into her again and again, making Ruth groan with the force of his thrusts, his rapid pumping making her gasp for breath. Such vigour could not be sustained for long, by either partner, and Ruth screamed softly as she climaxed, feeling his hot semen filling her, her vagina contracting in a series of spasms which gripped his member in a velvet vice, squeezing him dry.

"Ruth - about us." His voice was husky. "I don't want anything like the last few weeks ever to happen again. I know it wasn't your fault and whatever happened between you and Stephen is over now, but I'd like to make sure. About us, I mean."

"You mean you want to make an honest woman of me, so I have to promise to obey?" Ruth didn't really consider the significance of the words.

"Ruth, I love you and I want you to be my wife," he whispered softly in her ear, as he lay beside her.

"And will you still spank me if I say yes? Tan my bottom if I misbehave?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you happy."

"Oh, Tony, yes, please. Oh yes." She began to weep with joy as he held her close.

After that, events had moved so fast that Ruth could hardly believe so much could be accomplished so quickly. Her experience at Damocles Priory had opened up a new chapter in her life, which she could never have dreamt of. Firstly, Tony used his influence to clear up the legal side of things with a minimum of fuss. To her relief, the Karabengse family left the country; not exactly deported, just encouraged to seek a new home elsewhere. Robin Henderson, having been caught in possession of a number of video tapes made at Damocles, was duly prosecuted and given a three-month juvenile supervision order, plus a judicial bare bottom caning of twelve strokes, which Tony had gleefully witnessed and recounted to Ruth afterwards. Sir Harold Henderson was persuaded to divest himself of all his financial interests in Damocles Priory and any other educational interests and announced his retirement from business.

Secondly, Ruth successfully completed the project which Lillian Greeves had set her, finding the Reverend Mould a surprisingly engaging character as a working colleague. At the end of the project, she made a presentation of her findings to the board of Educorp-West and received a very attractive offer of promotion as a reward.

Finally, and most surprising of all, Tony and Ruth received a letter from Nicky Shaw. The letter, in Nicky's neat hand, began:

'Dear Ruth and Tony,

We were so pleased to hear the news of your engagement that we thought you might like to hear our little surprise as well. Stephen and I have formed a partnership. After what happened at Damocles, I took pity on Stephen, because what happened was partly my fault. We, sort of, got together. I know you'll think I'm awful and, normally, we would not have told people about this for a while yet, but Stephen winning the lottery sort of changes things.

To cut a long story short, when I was shut away on my own at Damocles, while Robin and the others were being nasty to you and Stephen, I was looking for a way to escape. I found an old tin box. I was going to use it to smash the door but then Tony arrived and there was no need. Anyway, I kept the box and, later, when all the fuss had died down, I read the papers inside it. They turned out to be the recipe for Moon Balm. It's ever so simple really, just some herbs and things, mixed up, and well, you don't need to know all that stuff.

The fact is, Stephen and I have gone into a business partnership, as well as the other kind. Stephen has bought Damocles Priory from Sir Harold Henderson, because all the herbs and things we need are there, and with my business training, we're going to set up a little company to market Moon Balm. I don't need to tell you, Ruth, it has pretty remarkable pain-relieving and healing properties, and Stephen says it has other beneficial effects as well. Stephen says I'm too young to know what they are but I can guess!

Stephen sends his love, as I do

Yours

Nicky '

When she had finished reading, Ruth laughed until she cried. Tony was mystified at first, then saw the funny side and joined in the laughter. They replied promptly, inviting both Nicky and Stephen to their engagement party, but received no reply. Although Ruth had kept the letter in her mind ever since, she had been so frantically busy and so deliriously happy that she had not done anything more about it. Now, with the party well under way, she realised that there were still two guests missing.

Ruth was suddenly aware that Tony was beckoning her from across the room, gesturing that she should come to the kitchen. With an effort, she dragged herself back to the present and obediently made her way through the crowd to the kitchen door. Obedience was very much on the agenda these days.

"Congratulations, Tony, do we get to kiss the bride-to-be?" To her amazement, Ruth saw Stephen and Nicky standing behind Tony.

"Sorry we are so late," Nicky stepped forward holding a parcel. "We got held up, so we came in the back door to surprise you. It was my fault, I had to get something from the woods and it took some time to find exactly what I wanted."

"Here, this is for Tony," Stephen interjected. "You'd better give it to him." He passed a large brown-paper parcel to Ruth.

"Why have I got to give it to Tony? It's your present." Ruth was puzzled.

"You'd better open it and see." Nicky was laughing now, and Ruth was sure that she was about to become the victim of some sort of practical joke. Nevertheless, her curiosity was getting the better of her, so, with Tony at her elbow, she put the package on the table, rummaged in the drawer for some scissors, and cut the string.

"We found it when we were clearing out all the old stuff from Damocles," Nicky chortled gleefully. "We thought you and Tony would like to have a souvenir of Damocles Priory."

"Very thoughtful, I'm sure." Ruth grinned wryly, examining the case which she had last seen in the main hall of the priory. The curly handled cane and black tawse were every bit as menacing as when she had last seen them. But worst of all was the bundle of birch twigs, carefully bound with a pink ribbon. They were clearly freshly cut.

"As that's Tony's present, we thought you had better have this." Nicky was grinning from ear to ear as she passed Ruth another parcel. Opening the second package, Ruth found a cardboard sleeve with three small glass jars, ornately decorated. Each one was labelled in gold script against a black background.

"They are samples from our very first production run," Nicky explained proudly. "We had them specially packaged for you . You'd better read the labels carefully."

'For Ruth," she read the card stuck to the first jar. Then she looked at the individual labels on the jars. 'Regular (tawse) , 'Extra-strong (cane) , and 'Ouch!' (birch).

She blushed to the roots then looked adoringly at Tony, who was standing in the kitchen doorway. She felt herself shiver with anticipation at the thought of blending her new professional role, as senior instructor at Educorp-West's new staff training establishment - Director: The Rev. J. Mould, with the equally demanding job of being Mrs. Tony Chalmers.

Monday, June 12, 2017

What is you most unusual location for spanking, either real or imaginary?

Anon: Not so much unusual as it was fitting the childish image of a spankee.

I
met my present one 20 months ago, and when we agreed to meet for her
first spanking, rented 1 day via B2b a small rural house. Pretty home
but cheap owner. No blinds anywhere, how am I going to spank her, but it
had a kid's bedroom with a world map full big window covering that
worked like a shade. That also happened to be up a winding staircase. So
that let me send her marching to "her" room, which was fully decorated
as a young child's room, to get her first spanking from me. We laugh
about it to this day.

kdpierre: In all honesty, after 40 years of doing this, there aren't too many
places I HAVEN'T been spanked in. As such, I don't think of any
particular place as "unusual" anymore.

When Rosa first moved in
we even played a game where we intentionally conducted a spanking in
every room in the house from attic to basement. And I've also been
spanked in camping areas, open areas, parking lots, hotel rooms.....etc.
etc. I'm not sure what's left? The altar at a church during a Mass? ;-)

Roz: I have been spanked outside in a secluded spot near the waterfront. We also went to a BDSM event where Rick spanked me.

Fondles: Gosh - I feel almost prudish. The only place I can think of that's NOT
indoors (or in the car at least) was when we went walking as usual along
the beach, only it was a different more secluded stretch and there were
stone benches at intervals along the path. BIKSS had me across his lap
between cyclists and joggers going past! I was so nervous that someone
would see and we wouldn't see them first in order for me to get up in
time!

Simon: Until fairly recently I had only ever been spanked indoors by one lady.
Since I retired I have become far more adventurous and have been
punished in some unusual places. I've been spanked outside in a hot tub,
something I highly recommend. Also two delightful ladies tied me to a
tree and flogged me and that was very exciting (it was admittedly a
large enclosed private garden in both cases with no chance of any
outsiders seeing anything). I was stripped and caned in a pub during a
spanking party. My most unusual experience was being strapped and caned
in front of an audience of about 30 people when I was part of a
introduction to CP event. That was a very weird experience and even
though by the nature of the event everybody there was of a like mind I
did find it nerve-wracking.

Rick: My wife decided that since I was rude to her parents, she was going to
insure that would not happen again. They live three or so hours away
and she ask me to pull the car over at a secluded rest stop. We got out
and she said she needed to walk, get some exercise and talk. We were
soon far from the road, open area and I was told to drop my pants and
underpants, I've been spanked many times, so I did as told, well she
soundly spanked me and said this was to insure I would not be rude to
her parents. I squirmed the rest of the drive to her folks, getting out
of the car she said, best behave or I will spank you here. I behaved,
sitting was hard, she told me later her mother asked, smiling she said
she told her mother about the spanking.

Sir Wendel: We love hiking and there have been many trails that ended with a
spanking. We tend to spank on the more challenging trials since they are
less traveled but there is always a risk of someone wandering by. We
took a trip to southern parts of Ireland back in April to explore the
old wrecks of castles. One evening we set off hiking at a place called
Loch Gur. Once at the top of one of the little mountains I bared the
Misses' bottom and spanked her. There wasn't much cover so there was
chance someone saw the spanking.

Ronnie: I've been caned in our garden shed and spanked in a pub's games room over a pool table.

I'd liked to be spanked on the beach but we haven't found a secluded one yet.

Hands63: I was once spanked when I was 14 years old in a school conference room
in front of about a dozen witnesses. I did something really stupid in
school to earn that punishment. I was spanked by one of the teachers,
over her lap with my bottom bare. What probably took only a few minutes
felt like hours and I physically felt that spanking for days after.
Left an impression that lasted a lifetime

Hermione: The most unusual place I've been spanked is a storage vault in the basement of the office building we both once worked in. We used to come in on Saturday mornings when the place was deserted and go down to the vault for some private time. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, just an old table for stacking files, but it worked for us.

I would like to be able to say I wish I could be spanked at the top of the Eiffel Tower or the London Eye, but I am afraid of heights. But there is a place not too far from us that I think might be possible. It's a mountain with a winding road to the top. Once there you can walk to the edge and look out over the valley and the village below. It is especially beautiful in the autumn when the trees are showing their fall colours. If the clearing is deserted, a picnic bench could be put to good use.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

The week has flown by for some of us and crawled by for others, but the weekend is here once more. Let's get comfortable and talk about spanking. We all know the spankings can happen anywhere.

What is the most unusual location—city, building, outdoor venue or room—you have ever spanked or been spanked in? What were the circumstances? Is there a particular location that you have always thought would be perfect for spanking, but haven't had the chance to do so yet?

Leave your response as a comment and I will publish a summary of our discussion on Monday.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

kdpierre: No matter how many years had passed, Hilda was always shocked at how she
could never seem to leave her days as the Coppertone model behind her.

The Glenmore: It would be nicer if there was a red spanked bottom under those PJ'S!

Anon 1: Oh, my, it's cold back there. How will I ever get it warmed up?

Sweetspot: Sometimes Hilda wished Henry was like other husbands. The kind of
husband who thought it would be cute to train the pup to open the
refrigerator door and fetch a beer.

Sir Wendel: Last night Champ overheard Hilda’s husband say that he was putting a
bone back here but was sad when he found the cupboard was bare.

Ronnie: He said I'm to fetch you as it's time for your spanking.

Anon 2: Hilda couldn't believe her own dog would betray her by yanking down the
seat of her pajamas when boyfriend yelled, "Spanking time." She was even
more shocked when she was head down and bare bottom up over his lap and
heard him yell, "Fetch," only to watch helplessly as her dog ran into
the bedroom and returned carrying the hairbrush her boyfriend then used
to make her poor bum glow hotter than the wood stove.

Hermione: Rex wasn't top of his obedience class for nothing. He was the only dog to perfect the "bare bottom" command.